


galaxies

by sepulchreofsongs



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Poetry, not like the entire fic is poetry but there is a poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6771292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepulchreofsongs/pseuds/sepulchreofsongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he’s an astronaut,<br/>breathless visiting every landmark on<br/>their body, an intimate<br/>exploration.<br/>---</p><p>Iwaizumi is suffering after their poetry assignment, but not for long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	galaxies

**Author's Note:**

> my dudes i literally submitted the poem that is in this in my poetry portfolio for my writing workshop course. of course i did not admit it was some gay volleyball shit but like here we are.

“IWA-CHAN!  Let me see your English assignment!”  The voice comes from behind him, a childish plea he knows well on their walk to school.

“What?  No.” Iwaizumi Hajime raises a severe eyebrow simply.  “It was a poem, dumbass, you can’t just copy mine.”

“I _know_ that!  I want to see what you wrote.”  Oikawa Tooru is walking next to him, their paces matching thoughtlessly from familiarity.  “I bet Iwa-chan has the soul of a poet.”

Iwaizumi lets out a short snort of laughter.  “As if, Shittykawa.”

“Aw, so no romantic ballads of some pretty crush?” Oikawa flutters his eyelashes and folds his hands together under his chin mockingly.  “No depressing, emo vent poetry about how your life sucks?”

“You’d be the reason it sucks.” Iwaizumi glares at his childhood friend.

“Mean, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa pouts for a moment before his face dissolves into a grin. 

“Your poem must really be awful if you’re trying to look at mine to compare it.”

Oikawa squawks, “That’s not true, Iwa-chan!  I wrote about aliens and abductions.  There’s a metaphor about crop circles.  It’s great.”

Iwaizumi laughs so hard he has to wipe a tear from his eye.  “That sounds almost as shitty as your personality.”

“Iwa-chan is so mean to me!”

“If you want to look at someone’s poem to feel better about yours, Matsukawa told me that Hanamaki's is pretty abysmal.” 

“Hmph, I guess if you _really_ don’t want to show me yours…”  After that, the subject moves naturally to other things, but Iwaizumi can’t stop thinking about the piece of paper in his bag. 

Oikawa crows when they get to the school’s front gate and see their other two best friends, tall and noticeable amongst their other classmates.  “Makki!  Show me your poem!”  

Iwaizumi has to roll his eyes, because of course Oikawa would immediately be on this again.  He’s only grateful that he’s no longer the victim.

“Why?  Do you need inspiration?” Hanamaki smirks. 

“We heard your poem is garbage.” Iwaizumi deadpans.

“Now, now, Iwa-chan, don’t make Makki feel too bad!” Oikawa flicks his wrist and crinkles his eyes.  “You wouldn’t even show me yours!”

“Oh yeah, Iwaizumi, where’s your poem?” Matsukawa asks.  “You wouldn’t send it to me last night, even after I bared mine, heart and soul, to you.”

“Trust me, you guys don’t need to read it.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, fighting an onslaught of pink on his cheeks. 

“I don’t think we’ll know that until we read it.”  Mattsun and Makki are grinning, Makki resting his elbow on Mattsun’s shoulder.

“Cough it up, Iwaizumi~.” Makki practically sings the words, off-key and horrible.

“Over my cold, dead body,” Iwaizumi pushes between them.  “We’re going to be late.”

“We’re actually early,” Matsukawa yawns, stretching his arms lazily above his head.  “But whatever you say.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines, slipping close next to Iwaizumi.  “Are you so eager to ditch your closest childhood friend?”

“Yes.” Iwaizumi glares at him, “Besides, we’re in the same class.  It’s not exactly ditching when you’ll be right next to me.”

This seems to mollify Oikawa, and his eyes light up, delighted at the idea that he gets to be with his Iwa-chan longer.  He hums and is agreeable until class starts.  The peanut gallery isn’t as satisfied, but when are they ever?

Iwaizumi sighs as he settles into his desk, relieved he made it all morning without showing off his embarrassing poem.  Now all he needs is to turn it in and he’ll be free of it forever.  Free of the night he’d spent spiking crumpled paper balls into his trash can, head in his hands, angry that all he wanted to write about was-

“Okay, class, I trust you all have a poem to turn in to me.  How about a few of you read them out loud to the class?” The teacher begins.  “Any volunteers?  No?  I guess I’ll pick one of you out myself…”

Iwaizumi feels a cold sweat touch his spine, and he prays not to be called on, but he's sure that everyone else in class is praying the same.  It doesn't come as much of a surprise to him when the teacher says, “Iwaizumi-kun?  How about you?  You always have such lovely writing.”

Iwaizumi fights back a groan.  Of course it would come to this.  He stands up slowly, clearing his throat and shutting out the thudding behind his ears.

“Busted,” Makki snickers.

Iwaizumi doesn’t even have time to shoot him a glare before he begins.

_“space spirals before him,_  
_the stars scattered in a_  
_kissed line upon skin._

_there are bruises purple_  
_and blending into peach, a_  
_nova painted on their thigh._

_their freckles are tiny planets_  
_against a galactic expanse of shoulder,_  
_each one deserving a visit._

_he’s an astronaut,_  
_breathless visiting every landmark on_  
_their body, an intimate_  
_exploration.”_

He sits down so fast it almost seems like he’ll knock over his chair.  He’s blushing, poppy red, and he can’t look anywhere but the grain of his wooden desk.

“Oh shit,” Mattsun breathes.

“That was beautiful, Iwaizumi-kun,” the teacher says before moving onto her next victim.

“Iwa-chan,” he hears next to him.  He doesn’t reply.

 There’s a kick to his chair.  “Iwa-chan.” A hissed whisper.

His eyes snap to Oikawa’s and he shakes his head, narrowed eyes in place, a signal.  He’s saying ‘Don’t ask, don’t talk to me.  Not now.’  Oikawa obeys for once and leaves his friend in peace.

At lunch, Hanamaki and Matsukawa have to go talk to Irahita, or so they claim.  That leaves Iwaizumi alone with Oikawa and his dozen of fans, trying to peacefully take a bite of his bento, still quiet from the morning’s events.  He tries to ignore the hoard surrounding his friend.

“Ladies, if you’d let me please eat my lunch!”  Oikawa flashes each and every one of the girls a perfectly calculated smile.  “I’ll see you all later.”

The girls disperse, blushing.  Oikawa turns to his own food, and the two of them eat in silence for a moment. 

“Hey, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa says, quietly, like he’s almost unsure.  “Your poem today - it was beautiful.”

“Very funny, Shittykawa.” Iwaizumi glowers.

“I’m not kidding,” Oikawa is looking intently at his food.  “I didn’t know you liked anyone, though.”

Iwaizumi coughs.  “What makes you think I like someone?”

“Please,” Oikawa snorts, shoulders straightening and smile mocking.  “Iwa-chan has no romantic experience to write that poem from!  You must have a crush you’re fantasizing about.”

“Oikawa.”

“Is it Minako-san from class B?  She is pretty, and I know you’ve talked to her before practice-“

“Oikawa.”

“Or maybe Haruka-san?  She’s so dull but I guess I can see that being something Iwa-chan likes-“

“ _Oikawa.”_

“Ooooh is it a boy?  What about that boy on the basketball team?  Kuroko-kun?  No that’s not right-“

“OI. KA. WA.”

“Hm, Iwa-chan?”

“I don’t like anyone, Trashykawa, give it up.”

“But the poem!  It was so romantic!”

“Tooru, drop it.”

“Ooooh, Iwa-chan is serious!” Oikawa’s surprised, but his gaze becomes quickly calculated before he hums.  “As long as I’m still first in Iwa-chan’s heart.~”

“D-dumbass.”  Iwaizumi can’t help but blush.  Maybe this is his breaking point.  “As though you’re anywhere in me.”

Oikawa laughs, leaning back.  “Iwa-chan is still trying to act tough!”  He’s suddenly at Iwaizumi’s ear.  “Especially when I know now that Iwa-chan’s poem was about little old me.”

Iwaizumi can’t breathe.  Oikawa’s too close, too right, too aware.  He feels like he’s burning up, burning alive.  Oikawa is humming a cartoon's tune, biting into milkbread, as though nothing had happened.  But Iwaizumi suddenly feels a tickle at his hip and flinches away to realize it’s Oikawa’s fingers, lithe at his side.

“Am I wrong, Iwa-chan?”  Oikawa murmurs, suddenly looking at him, intense in a way Iwaizumi has only seen during volleyball.  It makes him shiver, makes him honest.

“No… you’re not wrong.” Iwaizumi is looking away, rubbing at this back of his neck.  “But this doesn’t mean you’re not an idiot.”

Oikawa’s eyes quickly melt back into the cocoa Iwaizumi is used to.  “I would feel more like an idiot if I’d been wrong.  Especially since my poem was about you, too.”

“You told me it was about aliens.” Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow, trying to calm the boiling on the surface of his skin.

“Well of course I lied!” Oikawa grins.  “I knew if I said it was about aliens you wouldn’t want to look.”

“Surprisingly smart, Shittykawa.” Iwaizumi has to give that one to him.  “I guess even the worst of us have good ideas once in a while.”

“All my ideas are good, Iwa-chan!”  Oikawa sticks out his tongue.  “Like my idea right now:  meet me in the club room after class.”

“In the club room?  But there’s, uh, there’s club.” Iwaizumi is without a doubt flustered. 

Oikawa clicks his tongue.  “Iwa-chan it’s Monday.  There’s no volleyball on Mondays.”  His knee brushes Iwaizumi’s.  “The club room will be empty.  Maybe we’ll even get to explore that galaxy of yours.”

Iwaizumi’s head is against the table, arms surrounding it.  “Fuck off.”

“Well, alright, but I better see you after class!” He hears Oikawa stand.

“Dumbass, I’ll see you in class.” He says, but Oikawa is already gone.

Oikawa doesn’t say anything to him for the rest of class.  No “Iwa-chan”’s, or kicks to his chair, or whispered hisses.  Oikawa seems to be paying attention to his lessons for once.  But Iwaizumi knows this isn’t true when during math, Oikawa turns and gives him the most genuinely mesmerizing smile he can muster.  Not ten seconds later, Iwaizumi’s phone buzzes.

_Ur gay._

  * _Matsukawa_



Iwaizumi doesn’t even dignify it with a response, besides flipping his phone shut and sending his sharpest glare to his right.  He doesn’t even react to the fake arrow stabbing Matsukawa reenacts. 

All he can think about is what Oikawa wants after school.  He can pretty well guess what will happen, and it makes his stomach tingle. 

Class ends all too slowly and Iwaizumi tries to appear not to be in a hurry, shuffling his books slowly into a lazy stack.  There’s a fluttering of fingers near where his shoulder and neck meet. 

“Remember, Iwa-chan!” Is the only thing he gets, a whisper lost to whatever draft is flowing through the room.

As though Iwaizumi could forget, really.  He walks to his locker with Hanamaki and Matsukawa who are making fun of him, sure, but don’t even know the half of it.  While his tongue is usually sharp to retaliate their nonsense, it’s sticking to the roof of his mouth, dry and ridged. 

At the doors, rather than the gate, he says his goodbyes, and his friends look at him oddly, but then grin and shrug.  Iwaizumi looks around as though almost paranoid before rounding about towards the direction of the volleyball club room.  Oikawa is already there, waiting, picking at his nails. He closes the door when Iwaizumi enters.

“I was worried you wouldn’t show, Iwa-chan.”

“Dumbass.  I walk home with you anyway.”

“But you could’ve run away.” Oikawa isn’t looking at him.  “You could’ve gone home yourself.”

“As though I would.” Iwaizumi walks closer, faster.  “You heard me earlier.”

“I did,” Oikawa nods, still not looking.  “But still.  It seems hard to believe that something so wonderful was written about me.”

“You just told me with all confidence that it was about you.”

“Since when have you believed my bravado?”

Iwaizumi snorts.  “I guess you’re right there.  But it was… it was definitely about you.”

“Iwa-chan…”

Iwaizumi moves closer, barely half a foot between them, his hand ghosting on Oikawa’s shoulder.  “Did you know, your shoulders have freckles?”

He sighs, his breath brushing against Oikawa’s cheek.  “Have you ever noticed, in your volleyball shorts, just how creamy your thighs are, but for a few dots?”

Oikawa’s eyes are fluttered closed, he’s breathing stuttered and heavy.  “Hajime…”

Iwaizumi almost flinches at that, unexpectingly affected by Oikawa using his given name.  His face is a mere inch from Tooru’s.

“And your lips, do you pay attention to the sprinkling of planets on them?” He’s whispering, and Oikawa takes the last step, shoving his freckled lips against Iwaizumi’s chapped and rough ones.

They tangle together, like a blackhole merging, ungraceful but correct.  Iwaizumi’s hand is against Oikawa’s hip and the back of his neck, Oikawa’s on his side and shoulder.  They’re pressed flush to each other, kissing deep, barely coming up for air. 

Iwaizumi’s an astronaut, breathless visiting the first landmark on Oikawa’s body, the beginnings of an intimate exploration.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> yo bless @baphomeme for beta-ing this at 2AM
> 
> pugsephone.tumblr.com
> 
> yell at me @persephonali on twitter


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